Haunted Memory
by IMTheresa
Summary: A new job brings back some very bad memories for Dean and Sam has to find a way to help him.
1. Chapter 1

**Haunted Memory**

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Standard stuff. I don't own them, but I can't wait to see them again in season three!

A/N: I have no idea where this story came from. I usually at least have some memory of when the thought first occurred to me, but this time I have nothing. It almost – almost – wrote itself. Sometimes I wonder if my computer even really needs me, LOL.

I guess you could say this is a sequel to _Scars from the Past_, but you don't have to read that one to get this one. I'm not saying _not_ to read it, though, LOL. You'll find plenty of angst in here and for a change of pace, there's Protective!Sam and Hurt!Dean….though he's not hurt physically. I hope you enjoy it; let me know what you think!

And for those of you who just can't get enough fanfiction, check out my profile for something I'm very excited about.

oooOOOooo

_Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future - Lewis B. Smedes_

oooOOOooo

Sam Winchester looked up from his laptop when his brother walked into the motel room. Dean was carrying a plastic grocery bag and a six pack of beer. They were in between jobs, having finished getting rid of a ghost causing problems in a small Nebraska town. The spirit was attached to a former brothel that had been remodeled a decade before and reopened as a boutique hotel. At first, the antics were almost amusing and didn't cause any problems. If anything, the notoriety was good for business, but the intensity of the behavior slowly increased over the years and what had begun as an interesting backdrop began to take a violent turn. The owners of the hotel were friends of an old contact of John Winchester and.

"You were in bed when I left," Dean commented as he put the bag on the table where Sam's computer was set up.

"Yeah," Sam went back to the laptop screen, avoiding the questioning look in his brother's eyes. "I couldn't get comfortable; I guess I'm not ready to sleep."

He didn't see Dean's skeptical look, though he wasn't really looking at what was on the computer screen.

"You want a beer?" Dean asked as he pulled a bottle out of the cardboard container for himself.

"No, thanks."

"Chips?"

"Did you get the sea salt ones?" Sam asked, looking at his brother.

"Yeah," Dean grabbed the bag of chips and tossed it to Sam. Instead of reaching for it with his right hand, which he would normally do, he used his left. He hoped the pain he felt when he opened the bag didn't show on his face.

"Sam."

He noticed that wasn't a question, but he said nothing.

"Let me see."

"What?" Sam asked, intentionally trying to keep his tone innocent.

"Yeah, right. Your wrist. You've been favoring it since we finished that job and I saw the ghost throw that coffee table at you. You hurt your wrist again?"

"It's fine," Sam grumbled.

"Why are you being such a jerk about it?" Dean asked. Sam saw he was trying to evaluate the possible injury from across the table and he put his hands in his lap.

"I'm not being a jerk," Sam insisted angrily. "I'd know if it was broken."

"Broken? Who said it was broken? I just asked it if it was hurt again."

Sam glared at him and Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he took the beer and a second bag of chips to the bed closest to the door and flopped down. He opened the beer and put it on the table between the beds and turned the television on with the remote control he'd left on his bed earlier. "You want to watch a movie?"

Sam sighed. He didn't actually want to do anything on the computer. He had wanted to lie in bed and maybe fall asleep early, but his wrist had been throbbing, so he'd gotten up to take some ibuprofen and found it was more comfortable to rest his arm on the table than in the bed.

"Pick one and I'll watch while I do this," he nodded vaguely at the computer screen he knew his brother couldn't see.

---

When Sam originally broke his wrist, Dean hadn't been quite himself. Their father's death was still new and he wasn't paying attention to a lot of things. The zombie case bothered him a lot because of his own brushes with death and his growing suspicion that he should be dead, that, somehow, their father had traded himself for him. Even if that wasn't true, Dean had already gone up against one reaper and an innocent man died so that Dean could live.

After they had reburied the former zombie, Sam had mentioned that he thought his wrist was broken and Dean off-handedly said they'd get it checked out later. Sam suffered in silence for two days until he finally couldn't take the pain anymore and insisted they go to a hospital. Dean had felt incredibly guilty for not paying even enough attention to notice his brother had all but stopped using his right hand and was keeping it wrapped in an elastic bandage. Finding out that Sam had a broken bone went a long way to snapping Dean out of his self-destructive funk, even if just a little bit.

---

Dean flipped through a few channels, paying more attention to his brother than to anything that was on television. He knew something was wrong and he didn't understand why Sam wasn't admitting it. Dean decided on an old horror movie that they'd both seen several times and after a few minutes, Sam nonchalantly moved to his own bed. He was good, but Dean still noticed as he carefully laid his arm across his lap.

Dean decided not to push him for the time being. Clearly, his brother didn't want to admit to the injury just yet, but Dean knew he couldn't let it go on for too long or there could be permanent damage. And Sam certainly couldn't hunt with an untreated injury.

oooOOOooo

They left town the next morning and headed generally west. They weren't going anywhere in particular, but there'd been no reason to stay where they'd been. As he often did in the car, Sam fell asleep after a couple of hours. Dean never minded, especially when he knew Sam hadn't slept well the night before. It was always easier for Sam to relax in the Impala than in any motel room and Dean suspected that was because it was the most familiar place in his brother's life.

Dean made a decision when he saw the sign just outside the Gothenburg city limits and when he parked and turned off the engine, Sam woke up.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, looking around.

"Still in Nebraska."

Sam sat up and rubbed at his eyes with his right hand; Dean saw him wince.

"Let's go, Sammy." Dean reached for the car door handle.

"Wait….Dean, where are we?"

"I told you. Nebraska. Specifically, Gothenburg Memorial Hospital. We're getting your wrist x-rayed."

"It's fine."

"Bull. I know it hurts and I can see it's swollen from here. Now, stop being such a baby and get out of the car before I pull you out."

Sighing, Sam complied.

---

Sam was taken to radiology for an x-ray while Dean settled in the waiting room. Two hours later, his brother had been diagnosed with a severe sprain and fitted with a Velcro wrist splint. He'd been given a prescription for pain medication and instructions for a follow-up x-ray in two weeks.

Dean noticed the disappointment on Sam's face as they left the hospital and without a word, he pulled into the parking lot of The Dairy Barn on the edge of town and got out of the car.

"Sammy? Come on, let's get some ice cream."

"I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to be hungry for ice cream."

The younger Winchester didn't move. Dean hesitated, then leaned into the open window. "What's wrong?"

Sam glanced at him and then looked down.

"Sam, come on, dude. What is it?"

"I'm sorry."

Dean looked at him. "For what?"

"Getting hurt. Again."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude."

"I just….I feel like I let you down."

"What? That's crazy. Besides, it's just a sprained wrist. You'll be back to the normal pain in my ass in no time."

Sam grunted, a slight grin on his face.

Dean tapped the car door. "Come on. There's a cone with your name on it in there."

Sam got out of the car and followed his brother to the door. "Dude, it's like 30 degrees out here."

"So? We'll eat the ice cream inside." Dean shrugged and Sam smiled at him.

---

Inside, they each ordered an ice cream cone and then sat at a corner table. There were only a few other people in the dining room and cheesy 80's music was playing through hidden speakers. Dean tried to ignore it, knowing he'd be back to his own music in a few minutes.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam didn't look at him.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Making me get the x-ray." He held up his ice cream cone. "And for this."

Dean shrugged. "You always wanted ice cream when you were a kid and you got sick. I figured it might work for a sprained wrist, too."

"So, uh, I might have found us a job," Sam said after a few moments of contentment with the ice cream.

"I didn't think you'd really been looking. Every time I saw the computer, you were playing Minesweeper."

Sam smiled, embarrassed. "I was looking. Just not real hard."

"We don't need to jump right into a new gig," Dean said.

"It's in Montana." Sam's eyes were still cast downward.

"It could take a couple of days to get there."

"Not the way you drive," Sam joked.

"What's the job?" Dean asked, ignoring the barb.

Sam glanced around to make sure no one was sitting too close to them.

"Lots of kids have been attacked –"

"A striga?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, not like that. They go missing for a day or two. Some of them are found and some just come home, but they all have bruises and scratches with no memory of what happened. Medical exams show nothing, but some experts suspect sexual abuse."

"And this is our kind of job?"

"I think so."

"You want to share?"

Sam finished the last of his cone before speaking again. "Same thing happened about five years ago and five years before that. Same pattern has been going on since the 40's, when a guy was caught molesting kids and strung up by the townspeople."

"Aw, jeez." Dean leaned back in his chair. "So you're thinking it's the guy's spirit coming back to hurt the kids?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be."

"That is messed up," Dean muttered. "Why the five-year cycle?"

"I found some news stories about him that suggest he took five year breaks when he was alive, too."

"That's weird," he commented quietly. "And if it's a spirit really hurting those kids….it's got to be pretty powerful. Maybe it's a possession instead. Do we know where the guy was buried?"

"His name was George Humphries and no, not yet. I figure maybe if we can look at the old records…."

Dean sighed. "This is the job you find when you're barely looking."

"We don't have to take it."

"Yeah, we do. You ready?"

Sam noticed a change in Dean's tone. He was more subdued and his expression had changed somehow. He knew that could be because of the subject matter – Dean always reacted strongly when kids were in danger and add in a child molesting spirit….But Sam had a feeling that the change in his brother was something else, but he had no idea what.

A moment later, he followed Dean back out to the Impala.

---

Dean was worried about the children in the Montana town where they were headed, but he was more worried about his brother. He didn't like that Sam was afraid he was disappointed in him; for him not to admit an injury because of that bothered Dean a great deal.

He'd been disappointed with some of Sam's choices before, like leaving for Stanford, but he couldn't imagine really being disappointed in _him_.

Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Sam was reading some of the printed articles he'd found about the child molester and his expression was grim. Dean couldn't imagine it was a very enjoyable read. He shuddered involuntarily as that thought occurred to him and a vague image popped into his head.

"You okay?" Sam asked, obviously noticing the small movement.

"Yeah, just a chill." Dean made a show of pulling his coat collar closer around his neck even though he knew that wouldn't help. The image and sudden chill were gone, but he was left with an indistinct yet unnerving feeling the he couldn't explain.

Sam reached forward to turn up the car's heater, then tossed aside the pages he'd been reading. "This is very disturbing stuff."

"I'd imagine so."

"I found a book excerpt about serial criminals online. We should try to find it tonight; there's a chapter in it about the child molester. Anyway, according to the excerpt, he traveled around the country doing odd jobs. The author theorized that he would go back to the same towns for the thrill of it, but would wait five years in between visits so that enough time would pass that he wouldn't be immediately recognized."

"Why would he do that?" Dean asked, his mouth dry. "Why not just keep going to new places?"

"Like I said, for the thrill."

"That's sick."

"Well, he _was _a child molester."

Dean shuddered again.

"Dude, seriously. Are you all right?"

Dean heard the concern in his brother's voice. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're not getting sick, are you?"

"I said I'm fine," Dean growled, sounding angry even to himself. He glanced at Sam and saw the hurt expression on his face. "How's your wrist? It's about time for another pain pill."

"I think ibuprofen will be enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. We can save the stronger stuff for real injuries."

"Sam –"

"I'll take the prescription stuff if I need it," Sam assured him.

"Damn straight you will."

oooOOOooo

They stopped in the next large town they got to, hoping to find the serial criminal book and got lucky with a large, independent bookstore. Dean found himself in no hurry to get back on the road, which was somewhat unusual, and made no move to get Sam out of the store. He knew his brother could get lost for hours surrounded by good books, but that didn't encourage Dean to leave. He left Sam happily perusing the new releases and went off on his own.

Each section had several places for people to sit and, after looking through the shelves for a few minutes, Dean got comfortable in an overstuffed chair in a back corner of the building and started paging through a book about American muscle cars that he'd thought looked interesting.

Sam found Dean an hour later and stood behind him, surprised to see him staring into space with an open book on his lap. He'd been surprised that his brother left him alone for an hour; bookstores weren't Dean's favorite places and he usually got bored pretty quickly. Sam couldn't remember the last time he, or anyone, had been able to sneak up on Dean. He was always on alert and rarely missed any of the movements around him.

Sam watched him in profile for several moments. Dean didn't move save for the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The expression on his face was odd. The rest of him looked relaxed in the big, overstuffed chair, but his face showed the signs of stress. His hands were resting on the book and curled into loose fists. Something was definitely bothering Dean and Sam had no idea how to approach him.

A moment later, Sam coughed and moved forward. He saw Dean flinch before turning toward him.

"Hey, you ready?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice free of the concern he was feeling.

"Yeah. You find anything else you want?"

"No." Sam nodded toward the book on his brother's lap. "What about you?"

"Nah. I'm good." Dean stood up and laid the book on the nearby table before following Sam to the checkout counter.

"You know," Sam commented as they got into the car a few minutes later. "It's kind of early, but we could stop here for the night. It's been a while since we were in a town big enough for a choice of entertainment."

"If that's what you want to do."

Sam thought that Dean's voice sounded odd, hollow somehow. He shrugged. "Why not? I'm getting hungry anyway."

Dean nodded and turned the key in the ignition. "Okay. Let's find a motel first."

---

They rented a room in a motel slightly better than their usual standard. In addition to entertainment choices, another nice thing about larger towns was that they had more than one motel and competition tended to keep prices more reasonable than the lone motel in the small towns where they normally stayed.

Dean dropped his bag on the floor next to the bed that was closest to the door while Sam flopped down onto the second bed. He laid his injured wrist over his stomach.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah; it's not as awkward as the cast was, but this thing is still annoying."

"You sure the ibuprofen is enough?"

"It's plenty. It doesn't really hurt, anyway."

Dean looked at Sam skeptically and sat down on his own bed. "Did you see any place on the way here that you want to eat?"

"I noticed a bar not too far away."

"That's no place to eat dinner."

Sam looked at his brother, sure the surprise he felt was showing on his face. "Since when don't you want to go to a bar?"

"I didn't say I didn't want to go. I said it's no place to eat dinner. We could order a pizza if you want to stay in; maybe hit the town later."

"Dean, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're not acting like yourself."

Dean shrugged as he stood up and headed for the bathroom. He glanced at Sam as he went past, but said nothing.

In the privacy of the bathroom, he leaned back against the door and took several deep breaths. Sam was right; he wasn't acting like himself. He didn't feel like himself, but he had no idea what was wrong. He had an indistinct feeling of dread, but he didn't know about what. He'd learned to trust his instincts over the years, but this was different.

After a few moments, Dean pushed himself away from the door and moved to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He knew Sam was on the other side of the door, worrying about him and he hated that. He didn't like that he was going to have to back out there and see the concern in Sam's eyes. It wasn't Sam's job to worry about him.

Dean procrastinated as long as he could. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before reluctantly leaving the bathroom. Sam was sitting in one of the chairs with a book open on the table in front of him. Dean didn't know if he was reading or just pretending to, but he was glad the conversation they'd been having seemed to be over; at least for the time being.

"You ready to go find something to eat?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Dean grabbed his keys from the bedside table and turned toward the door. He missed the worried look on Sam's face as he followed Dean out of the door.

---

They ate at a family restaurant near the motel. There were a lot of children around and Sam was surprised at Dean's patience. Sam couldn't help but think Dean was watching them with their parents almost longingly and assumed he was thinking of their own childhoods.

"You want to hit the bar on the way back?" Sam asked as they got back into the car.

"Yeah. Maybe I can get into a decent game of pool. You want me to drop you off at the motel?"

"Nah, I'll hang out for a while."

Dean scoped out the competition at the pool tables while Sam found a table in the back of the bar. The place was busy for a weeknight and it took several minutes for a waitress to come for the drink order. After ordering two beers, Sam sat back in his chair and looked around. Most of the people seemed to be in their late 20's, but there were a few older men on stools at the bar. The music playing was coming from a juke box, the song a current top 40 hit. The small dance floor was full of couples.

Dean picked up his beer from the table when the waitress delivered it and went back to the pool tables. It wasn't long before he was in a game and Sam left the table to check out the song selections on the juke box and picked a few of Dean's classic rock favorites then went back to his chair to keep an eye on his brother.

As Sam watched from the table, Dean easily won several games, smiling as he pocketed the cash. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, which wasn't always the case when pool and money was involved. In fact, if Sam knew that Dean was going to be playing pool, he insisted on being there in case things got ugly. He was glad to be able to relax for a change and watch his brother have fun. He wondered how much of Dean's good time was coming from the pool and how much from the beer he was drinking. Sam belatedly realized he should have gotten the keys from his brother, though he knew it wouldn't be too hard to keep him from driving later.

A couple of hours later, Dean finally took a break and fell into the chair across from Sam, a big smile on his face.

"Looks like you're cleaning up," Sam said. "And no one is threatening to break your neck."

"Yeah, that's a nice perk," Dean agreed, his tone light. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Is your wrist all right?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam insisted with a smile.

Dean turned as someone called his name. He waved, then turned back to the table and took a quick swallow of his beer. "I've got another ass to kick."

Sam laughed and shook his head.

---

Normally Sam was tired of the bar scene after only a little while, but something about Dean's good mood was infectious and he found he was actually having a good time. He usually read or worked on the laptop while keeping one eye on his brother, but tonight he was entertained with people watching and listening to the wide variety of music that was being played.

An hour later, Sam's wrist started to bother him. He wished he had some ibuprofen with him, but resting his arm on the table seemed to help. He noticed that Dean was still drinking, but somehow it wasn't affecting his game. He'd also collected several phone numbers that Sam knew he would never call. They planned to leave town the next day and it didn't look like Dean was interested in hooking up with anyone tonight.

Sam was watching the dance floor later when Dean joined him again.

"Hey, Sammy, you ready to take off?" Dean's words slurred a little as he asked the question.

"If you are."

"Yeah, I'm out of opponents. It's almost last call, anyway."

As Sam stood up, Dean handed him the keys and he wasn't surprised that Dean fell asleep during the short distance to the motel. After Sam parked, Dean woke up enough to walk to their room almost unassisted, but Sam kept a protective arm around his shoulders. Dean flopped onto the bed, his head not quite hitting the pillow and Sam took his boots off. He pulled Dean into a sitting position long enough to slip him out of his leather coat. None of this was easy one-handed, but Dean was able to help just enough.

Sam took Dean's favorite knife from his bag and slipped it under his pillow, where Dean would expect it to be when he woke up. As Sam stood, Dean reached for his arm and looked at him. Sam noticed that his brother's eyes were glassy and he wasn't entirely sure Dean knew what he was doing, but he laid his own hand on Dean's.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Go to sleep."

"Make sure the door is locked."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Sure."

"Don't go out, 'kay?"

Sam moved Dean's hand from his arm and laid it on his chest. "I'm going to get ready for bed and then turn in. Go to sleep."

Dean rolled onto his stomach, his left hand resting under his pillow. Sam suspected he was touching the knife. He straightened and watched his brother for a moment, then went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

---

Sam wasn't surprised that he was awake first the next morning. Dean looked comfortable in his bed, positioned in much the same way he had been when Sam last saw him. After a moment of listening to his brother's quiet snoring, Sam showered and got dressed. Dean was still asleep when he was done, so he left the room to get coffee and food. He didn't think Dean would want to eat, but he would definitely want coffee.

Dean jerked awake, immediately aware of his throbbing head. He carefully rolled onto his back, relieved that the room didn't begin to spin. He glanced at the next bed and sat up when he saw it was empty.

"Sam?" he called. "Sammy?"

Dean got out of bed; he couldn't explain the panic he felt, but it was definitely real. He found the bathroom was empty and was headed to the window when he heard a key in the door lock. He rushed forward, pulling the door open and surprising his brother.

"Sam…." Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Dude, what is it?"

"I – nothing, I just….Nothing." Dean bent down to pick up the cups of coffee that Sam had set on the ground so he could open the door.

"How bad is the hangover?" Sam asked, following him into the room. He set the paper bag on the table and took one of the cups from Dean.

"I'm fine," Dean said, his voice shaking just a little.

"I didn't know if you'd be ready for food. I have some doughnuts and croissants." Sam sat at the table and reached for the bag.

"I'm not hungry yet. Thanks for the coffee."

"Sure."

Dean saw the look on Sam's face. It was a combination of curiosity and worry. Dean hoped he didn't press for a conversation. He wasn't in the mood and had no idea what to say anyway. It wasn't unusual for the first one up to go out in search of coffee and food and since Sam's sleep was often interrupted by dreams, he was generally the first one out of bed.

"Have any idea how much you won last night?" Sam asked as he picked out the doughnut he wanted.

"Last time I checked, it was about $400."

"Cool."

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, not meeting Sam's eyes. He took the lid off of the coffee cup and tossed it onto the bedside table before taking a long sip. He hoped Sam didn't notice that his hand was shaking, but was sure that nothing was escaping his brother's attention.

"I took a shower, so the bathroom is yours whenever you want it."

"Thanks." Dean nodded. "So, uh, you okay?"

"Yeah. I took some ibuprofen before I left."

Dean nodded again. He watched Sam from the corner of his eye as his brother reached for his laptop and set it up on the table. He knew that Sam was worried about him, but Dean was thankful that he wasn't asking questions. After a few more sips of coffee, Dean headed for the bathroom without a word.

---

They were on the road an hour later, Sam behind the wheel. Dean rested his head against the cool glass of the window and fell asleep.

Sam knew that he had to pick his battles with Dean. His brother wouldn't talk about everything and what he did talk about would be when he wanted to. Sam didn't expect Dean to be willing to talk about that morning any time soon, so he didn't even ask. He pretended not to notice his brother's shaking hands or the quiver in his voice. It could have been the hangover, but Dean had had much more to drink with less of a reaction before.

He didn't know why Dean would have told him not to go out the night before. Unless they were working, Sam didn't generally go out that time of night. In fact, he'd been at the bar with Dean much later than he normally stayed out. Of course, Dean had been pretty drunk when he said it, but Sam didn't think the alcohol was the culprit.

He hadn't been acting like himself since the day before and was being overly concerned about Sam's wrist. He knew any injury normally sent his brother into mother hen mode, but something about this time seemed excessive.

Sam glanced at his brother when he heard what sounded like a whimper. Dean's face was scrunched like he was in pain and the one hand Sam could see was clenched into a fist. Something was definitely wrong and Sam was worried. He wondered if he should wake Dean, but before he could decide, his brother's eyes opened and he sat up straight.

"Where are we?" he grunted.

"I'm not exactly sure. You were asleep for almost three hours."

"Sorry." Dean rubbed his face.

"No worries. There's a town coming up. Wanna stop?"

"No, I'm good."

"Dean, you can talk to me, you know?"

"Don't start."

"I'm not; it's just –"

"Drop it, okay? I'm hungover. That's all."

"You sure you're not hungry?"

"Not especially, but stop if you want."

"That's okay. You wanna drive?"

"Nah. Just don't crash my baby."

Sam rolled his eyes.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**Haunted Memory**

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

A/N: Yes, this was a rather short story, but it was intense. Thanks for reading and thanks, as always, to Kelli for finding my mistakes.

oooOOOooo

_Our demons are out own limitations, which shut us off from the realization of the ubiquity of the spirit...each of these demons is conquered in a vision quest - Joseph Campbell_

oooOOOooo

Sam knew that Dean was trying, but he couldn't quite pull off the nonchalant attitude he usually had when they were traveling to a new job. Despite their father's death and the rollercoaster of emotions that Dean had been going through since then, he still liked to help people and tended to look forward to new gigs. He felt good when he was able to kill some evil thing to keep it from hurting anyone else. Normally Dean looked forward to a new job and approached it with calmness, but that's not how he was acting now.

Dean was nervous and hadn't let Sam out of his sight all day. When they stopped for gas, Dean kept him talking so he wouldn't go into the store alone. When they finally stopped for food, he wouldn't even let Sam go to the bathroom alone.

What Sam thought was odd was that Dean didn't seem to be worried about Sam, but himself. Dean didn't like to be alone, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy some privacy now and then. He was overprotective, but that he was fine when Sam was in another room.

Sam made up his mind that this was a conversation they needed to have and when they stopped at a motel that night, he feigned being too tired to go out for food and talked Dean into ordering a pizza instead. Sam had deliberately left his computer in the car and when he told Dean he was going out to get it, he didn't miss the sudden nervousness coming from his brother.

"Dean."

He watched as Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his back on him.

"What's going on, man?" Sam asked as he sat on the edge of his bed. "Talk to me."

"Nothing –"

"Don't give me that. Something's wrong. What is it?"

Sam waited as Dean moved from the chair and walked to his own bed, then toward the window.

"Dean?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't know!"

Sam was shocked by his brother's reaction. He wanted to be closer to him, to offer some kind of support, but he didn't think Dean was ready for that yet so he stayed where he was. Dean was across the room, his back to Sam and his head hung down.

"Okay," Sam said gently. "Is it this job? You've been acting weird since I told you about it."

Dean glanced at him and Sam saw how pale he'd become.

"Hey, come on, man," Sam said.

"Look, a child molester is bad enough, but the ghost of one? That's just…."

"Dean, seriously, we don't have to do this job. I'll call Bobby and have him get someone to –"

"I don't run from jobs." Dean's voice was low.

"I know you don't, dude, but –"

"But nothing, Sam. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me; I'm acting like a pussy for no reason. We'll get into town tomorrow, find out where the sonofabitch is buried then salt and burn the bones. In and out and no other kid has to get hurt."

"Okay. Simple in and out," Sam agreed, more worried about his brother than he had been.

oooOOOooo

They arrived in town late afternoon the next day and found the courthouse. Looking for the burial records only took one of them, but Dean wasn't ready to let Sam out of his sight and Sam decided it wasn't worth arguing about. Sam had woken up during the night to find Dean thrashing in his own bed, clearly in the grip of a nightmare. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened; it was usually Dean waking up to find Sam in a nightmare.

Dean had mumbled something about their father and said a name Sam didn't recognize; Wally. He'd been about to get out of bed to comfort Dean when he woke up on his own. Sam had said nothing, waiting to see what would happen and when Dean silently padded across the floor and into the bathroom, he'd realized his brother wanted to be left alone. At least something about his brother seemed familiar.

It took a couple hours of research to find out where the child molester had been buried because the records weren't in the best of shape. They'd been stored in the basement and water damage after a fire several years before had all but ruined most of the paper. It wasn't surprising that no family had claimed him after his death and he'd been buried in a potter's field at the edge of town.

"This is not going to be easy," Sam said as they got out of the Impala at the old graveyard. It was overgrown and most of the small markers were practically illegible. They'd found out that the last burial at the cemetery was 20 years ago and it didn't appear to have gotten much care since then.

"We have to find it," Dean said.

"Dean –"

"We'll find it," he said with more force.

Sam watched as Dean walked into the cemetery. Most everything Dean did was with a purpose, especially when working a job, but Dean seemed even more intent than usual. After a moment, he followed.

The records hadn't been specific to the exact location of Humphries' grave so they had to look through the whole place. Luckily, it wasn't particularly large and just over an hour later, Dean found it.

Sam was several yards behind his brother when he stopped and crouched down. He cleaned some debris away from the marker that was as nondescript as the rest of them and though Sam was sure it was the grave they'd been looking for, Dean didn't call him over. As Sam watched, Dean somehow seemed to get smaller. His shoulders were hunched and his usual outward bravado was gone.

"Find something?" Sam called to him.

He saw Dean flinch. "Yeah. I found Humphries."

"Let's mark it so we can find it when we come back after dark," Sam said as he walked toward his brother.

Dean didn't respond. When Sam got closer, he laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and was taken aback when he practically jumped away from him.

"Hey, it's just me, man." Sam noticed the startled look in Dean's eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." Dean pretended to be unaffected and Sam saw how easily he slipped back into the mask that he wore to hide his feelings. "Let's mark it and get out of here."

---

"Okay, Dean," Sam said as they walked into the motel room they'd just rented. "What's going on with you?"

"Aw, Sammy, just leave it alone, okay?" Dean sat down on the bed closest to the door and rubbed his face. "I'm fine."

"You had a nightmare last night."

Dean glanced at him.

"You were talking in your sleep, too."

Dean still said nothing.

"Who's Wally?" Sam asked carefully and was stunned when Dean looked at him with tears in his eyes.

"I don't want to talk about this now."

"Dean –"

"Later, Sam, okay?" Dean stood up and walked to the window. He leaned against the wall and stared outside. "Please."

Sam looked at him, not sure what to do. This reaction was completely abnormal for his brother. He decided to let it go for the time being and if Dean didn't talk on his own, he would push him when the job was done.

"I'm gonna try to get a couple hours of sleep before we go back to the cemetery," Dean said as he kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of his bed.

Sam only nodded.

---

Dean pretended to sleep, but he couldn't stop thinking about the nightmare. He normally didn't remember his dreams, but remembered every horrible, vivid second of this one. And, he remembered what caused it. Not all of it, of course, because he hadn't been conscious the entire time, but enough of it. But it had happened so long ago, why was it coming up now?

Wally, the name he'd called out in his sleep, had been one of the people his father had hated most in the world. His dislike for the man ranked up there with how he felt about the demon that had killed his wife. For years, Dean had heard the name, but as far as he knew, he hadn't met him. He didn't remember when he was six-years old….Even now, it was more like a dream than a memory.

---

Sam lay in his own bed, thinking about the job and about his brother. Something was familiar about the name Dean had called out in his sleep, but he couldn't quite remember what. He didn't think it was someone he'd ever met, but knew he should recognize it.

It came to him a few minutes later, but he wasn't sure what it had to do with his brother's current state of mind.

About a year after Sam had gone to Stanford, his dad and brother had been working a job that involved Wally. Ironically, the man had come to their father asking for help on behalf of his half brother who innocently gotten on the bad side of a witch, a practitioner of black magic. Sam didn't know the whole story, but he did know that Wally kidnapped Dean and held him in some remote place. He also knew his brother had been tortured; he'd somehow sensed that something was wrong and despite having no contact with his family since he left, Sam called to make sure his brother was all right. They talked about it later and Sam always suspected that Dean had downplayed the experience.

---

He didn't know how long he'd been asleep when Sam was awakened by the sound of his brother's voice. At first he thought it had been his imagination, but he looked toward the other bed and Dean was writhing under the covers. A moment later, he made a sound that Sam could only describe as a whimper and before he had time to react, Dean started yelling and sat up. Sam called out his name and moved toward him, finding it odd to be on the other side of a nightmare. It didn't happen as much anymore, but there were still nights that Sam would wake up yelling with Dean rushing to comfort him.

"Dean?"

Sam sat on the edge of his brother's bed and held his forearms firmly. "Dean, it's okay, it was a dream. You're okay."

Glassy-eyed, Dean reached out for his brother. Sam didn't think he had any idea what he was doing; he was acting on pure instinct. A trembling hand touched Sam's face. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, it's me. You awake?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Dean tried to move away, but Sam wouldn't let him. He saw the book they'd gotten about serial criminals on the bed next to his brother and he wondered when Dean had started to read it.

"Talk to me, Dean. What did you dream about?"

"I don –"

"Don't tell me you don't remember," Sam said gently. "I know all the lies, okay? I've used them on you. In the end, they don't work anyway and you'll just suffer. Talk to me, big brother."

Sam saw Dean's eyes meet his and he felt an immediate sadness over the pain he saw reflected in them.

"I need something to drink," Dean said, his voice low and rough.

They moved to the small table across the room and Dean opened a bottle of beer. With no refrigerator, it was room temperature and after one swig, he grimaced and put it aside.

Sam took some change he'd left on the table earlier. "I'll get something from the vending machine outside. I'll be right back."

When Sam returned, Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed. Sam handed his brother a bottle of water and sat across from him.

"Thanks," Dean muttered. He took the water, his hand still shaking.

Sam had never seen him like this and it scared him.

"Dean? I – I remember who Wally is. You told me that ridiculous story about the kinky sex when I asked about that scar on your shoulder, but it was really Wally who –"

"What does this have to do with anything, Sam?"

"I don't know, but you had a nightmare and said his name. Why?"

"It was just a dream."

"Dean –"

"I'm not having this conversation, Sam. We have work to do."

"We have time. Please, Dean. Talk to me. You're scaring me, man, I've never seen you like this."

"What did I tell you about Wally?" Dean asked quietly after a few failed attempts to avoid the subject.

"Not much. He'd been working for some witch that was trying to get revenge on Dad. You said he managed to get you with a sucker punch or something and tied you up in a room…. You didn't tell me many of the details and I always figured you downplayed what happened."

Dean grunted. "Yeah, I probably did. But…."

"What, Dean?" Sam asked after a moment.

"There's other stuff. Before."

"What?"

Dean looked away and wiped at his eyes. "Why do they do it, man? What the hell makes a kid so attractive to these people that –"

Sam's heart started to beat faster. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what his brother was going to tell him.

"I mean, a little kid, man? What the hell?"

"Dean…."

"The first time Dad met Wally, we were all at a park. You were maybe two and Dad had just come back from a hunt. He probably wanted to tire me out so I'd go to sleep and he could have some peace. He sat on a bench with you; you were sleeping. I went to the swings and….I saw this puppy and I wanted to play with it. I looked over at Dad and he was paying attention to you so….I knew I wasn't supposed to go anywhere, but I could still see him so I guess I figured it was okay. Then this guy, Wally, came up to me."

Dean stood up and walked to the other side of the small room. Sam waited for him to continue.

"We went behind some building where the puppy had run off to. I heard Dad calling for me and he was there a second later. Wally didn't have time to do much, but…." He glanced at his brother. "Dad took us home and he asked me what happened. I told him nothing. He asked again the next morning. I told him the same thing. He kept asking for a few days and then I guess he had to believe me."

"What did happen?" Sam whispered.

Dean sat back down on the bed. "Not a whole lot more than nothing, but enough that I had nightmares for a while. Then I managed to forget about it. I'm still not sure if what I remember really happened or…."

"That's what you've been dreaming about?"

"You don't mess with kids, man. It's just….it's messed up." Dean said, his voice sounding far away.

"Yeah, it is. Dean, I'm sorry. If I'd known –"

"You weren't ever supposed to know. I mean, it was probably less than ten minutes of my life total."

"The amount of time doesn't matter, Dean."

"I guess not."

"Dean?" Sam asked after a few minutes. "What happened when Wally had you locked up?"

"Not what you're thinking; I wasn't a kid anymore," Dean said and Sam knew he was trying to make a joke. "And I guess his hobby changed. He'd moved on to knives and other fun things like that."

"What happened to him?"

Dean rubbed the shoulder that Wally had burned with a hot poker nearly five years before. Sam knew it wasn't painful for him after all of this time, but he imagined the memory of the pain was just as strong as if the injury had just happened. "Dad would have probably killed him, but I asked him not to. I figured it would be worse for him if he lived and knew that Dad could show up at any time. I don't know where he is now."

Sam nodded and stared at a spot on the wall across from him. "Dean….You know, you don't have to keep things to yourself anymore. You don't have to protect me from the truth – about anything. And –"

"It's a hard habit to break, Sam." Dean glanced at his brother. "And this one…."

"This one, what?"

"This was an ugly truth. Not as ugly as it could have been; not as ugly as those kids suffered…."

"Dean, it wasn't your fault. You were just a kid wanting to play with a puppy."

"Doesn't matter," Dean shook his head. "I should have known better. Dad told me –"

"Stop it, Dean. I'm not going to let you do that to yourself. Not this time. You were, what? Six?" he paused as Dean nodded. "You were too young to know any better and I'm not going to let you put that burden on your shoulders."

Dean clasped his hands between his knees and hung his head.

"Dad put a lot on you, but even he wouldn't have let you bear this one alone."

"I think Dad knew," Dean whispered after a few minutes. "I didn't want him to know, but it was hard to hide anything from him."

Sam waited.

"I always wanted him to think I could handle things and that's why I didn't want him to know about this. I screwed up –"

Sam quickly moved to the other bed and leaned close to his brother, forcing Dean to look into his eyes.

"I said I'm not going to let you do that this time. You want to take responsibility for the striga when you were nine, fine, but not this one. Not this time. Even _you_ should get a pass for being a kid."

Dean didn't respond, he didn't so much as move and Sam put one of his big hands on the back of Dean's neck. "Dean, listen to me. You have to hear me this time."

Sam knew that Dean wanted to pull away. He wasn't entirely comfortable with physical contact when he was feeling vulnerable, but Sam also knew that if he let Dean go now, he probably wouldn't get him back. The conversation would be over and the pain would be stuffed away again.

"Dean, listen to me. _Look_ at me."

Dean's eyes cut away and Sam gripped his neck tighter. "_Look_ at me."

It took a few moments, but Dean turned his eyes to his brother. "You were six years old, Dean. Do you think the kids we're here to help – the other kids this guy hurt when he was alive – do you think it's their fault?"

"No," Dean whispered.

"And it's not yours, either. Adults are in charge, not kids. It was Wally's fault, not yours."

Dean glanced away and Sam squeezed his neck again. "It was Wally's fault."

"I –"

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. Please hear me."

"He burned me."

Sam was confused, but before he could say anything, Dean continued. "When he was holding me prisoner in that room. I was drugged and handcuffed to a cot and he used a knife that he heated with an electric hot plate. Then he used the knife to cut my shoulder where he burned it. He had this….leather case; like a suitcase. Goddamn piece of luggage where he kept his….toys."

"Sick bastard," Sam muttered, his grip on his brother becoming more protective as he felt a slight trembling coming from Dean. "Who does that kind of crap?"

Dean smiled sadly. "I wasn't a kid that time."

"It still wasn't your fault," Sam said with compassion. "You're not invincible, Dean. No one is. He got you with a cheap shot and he kept you tied and drugged. Any other way, you would have been able to get out. He had to cheat."

Sam moved his hand to his brother's wrist, surprised when he flinched.

"He cheated, Dean. That's how he got to you. But he didn't win, Dean. He didn't win when you were six and he didn't win later, either. You're better than he is. He….he's just a sick fuck who gets his thrills by doing messed up things. I'm glad Dad didn't kill him and I hope he doesn't know that Dad is dead. I don't want him to ever feel safe."

The more Sam spoke, the more anger he felt and he heard it coming out in his voice.

"I swear, Dean, if he was here, I'd tear him apart myself."

"No," Dean said gravely, his eyes making him look dangerous. "If our paths cross, I get to tear him apart."

Dean managed to pull away from Sam, but he didn't go far. "I never told Dad. He tried to get me to talk….He was more…_Dad_ than he had been in a long time. I didn't tell him. But…."

Sam looked at him. "But what?"

"You called," Dean said, awed. "Out of the blue. We hadn't talked; hadn't heard from you….Did Dad call you?"

Sam shook his head, remembering the phone call. "I had a dream about you. When I woke up, I had this….strong, overwhelming feeling that I had to talk to you. I knew something happened, but I didn't know what."

Sam saw his brother's eyes glistening with tears. A moment later, he turned away and slammed his fist into the wall. He managed to hit it once more before Sam got to him.

"You're gonna break your hand, man. Come on…." Sam led him back to the bed and looked at Dean's hand. The skin on his knuckles was cut and there were spots of blood.

"How could he do that?" Dean demanded, finally sounding angry. "You don't mess with kids and you don't burn people. You don't _torture_ them. It's messed _up_. No way to get out and he..."

Dean practically howled; his pain palpable. Even though only four years separated them, it had only been recently that Sam realized Dean was not really a superhero. He got scared, just like everyone else, and he could feel pain. Sam wondered sometimes just how much pain his big brother had inside of him. Dean always tried so hard to be the good son, the good brother, the protector, the mediator, the hunter….when did he just get to be _Dean_? When did he get to unload?

Before Sam had a moment to react, Dean took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "We have work to do,"

"Not yet," Sam said quietly. "We're not done here."

"What else is there to do, man? Huh? There's nothing else to say."

"It's not your fault. None of what Wally did was your fault."

Dean looked away and made a move to stand. Sam grabbed his wrist. "It's not your fault, Dean."

"Let go of me, Sammy."

Dean's use of his nickname told Sam that he was still listening and wasn't ready to stop talking. If he'd truly lost his patience, if he really wanted Sam to turn him loose, he wouldn't have used _Sammy_. He would just pull away.

"It wasn't your fault."

Sam saw hope in his brother's green eyes.

"Dean."

"Not my fault."

"Not your fault."

"Wally's one sick fuck, huh?" Dean asked, sounding as if he really believed it.

"He's one sick fuck," Sam agreed, seeing the light coming back into Dean's face.

"I was scared, man."

Sam was taken aback by his brother's honest admission.

"I would have been, too."

"Just tied up like that…." Dean shook his head, then looked straight ahead at nothing. "All I could think about was Dad finding me. I didn't even care if he would be mad at me for getting caught; I just wanted him to find me."

"He wouldn't have been mad, Dean."

Dean nodded. "I know."

"You really know? Dean, Dad was tough, but he loved us. He –"

"I know that, Sammy," Dean looked at him and Sam saw his eyes glisten with tears again. "I just wanted him to find me."

Sam hesitated only a moment to consider how Dean would react before putting an arm around his shoulders. He had quickly prepared himself for Dean to pull away and pretend everything was okay again, but instead his brother slumped and leaned into him…just a little bit.

"I can guarantee you that all Dad wanted was to find you, Dean."

"So, uh…." Dean glanced away and wiped his face with the back of one hand.

"What, Dean?" Sam's voice was gentle.

"You, uh, you don't think anything…." He rubbed his palms on his jeans. "I mean…."

Sam knew what his brother was asking. Dean wanted to know if any of what he'd said had changed his mind about him. He wanted to know if Sam still accepted him; if Sam loved him.

"You know what, Dean? I'm glad you're my big brother. You always take care of me; tell me things are okay. You've always done everything you could to _make _them okay. I just wish you'd think about yourself once in a while."

Dean looked at Sam and nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'm gonna hit the head and then we should go. It's plenty dark enough to go to the cemetery and I'll have to dig up the bastard by myself."

Sam tried not to react to the sudden change in his brother and watched as Dean headed into the bathroom. "I can help dig the ---"

Dean stuck his head out of the doorway. "Not with that wrist; I'm taking any chances with you."

---

Sam insisted on stopping for food before going to the cemetery. He wasn't even sure the last time they'd eaten and he knew that Dean would be doing some strenuous digging. He'd need fuel for that.

At the small, overly lit diner, they stayed to safe subjects and comfortable silences as they ate the small meals they'd ordered. At the cemetery, they quickly found the grave they'd marked earlier. Sam tried to help with the digging, but his brother staunchly refused to let him. When Dean exposed the cheap coffin, he used the shovel to break the lid and Sam scattered salt and lighter fluid over the bones. Standing next to him, Dean lit a match and after looking at the flame for a moment, he dropped it into the grave.

"That's for being such a sick fuck," he said as flames erupted from the coffin. "You don't mess with kids."

oooOOOooo

Back in the motel room, Dean shed his clothes and went into the bathroom in only his underwear. He hadn't said a word the entire time he was filling in the grave or as he drove back to the motel and he only shook his head when Sam asked if he wanted something to eat or drink.

Sam sat in one of the chairs, his wrist resting on the table in front of him, listening to the sound of the water in the shower. He had no idea what to do to ease his brother's nerves, but was determined to make the night as comfortable for him as he could. He gathered up Dean's discarded clothes and put them next to his duffle bag then slipped out of the room and walked to the convenience store on the next block to get a six pack of his brother's favorite beer.

---

Dean stood under the shower head and let the water roll down his body. It was scalding hot, but it felt good on his aching muscles. Despite the junk food he preferred, Dean was in excellent physical shape and it wasn't the digging that was causing the pain he felt in his joints. He'd been tense since they started this job. The memory of what Wally did to him as a child had rushed to the surface of his consciousness and though he wasn't sure what part of it was real and what was imagined, the pain was more excruciating than he would have believed possible.

And then coming across the same man all those years later….being held prisoner while the bastard tortured him was bad enough, but then he'd started to talk about that day at the park. Wally had told him exactly what he'd wanted to do to him, but never got the chance. Even now, Dean wasn't sure which was worse; the physical pain Wally had put him through in that room or reminding him what had happened when he was only six years old.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, Dean put a hand against the wall of the shower and leaned heavily against it. The pain of both events flooded over him and he didn't realize he was now sitting on the bottom of the tub. He turned his face toward the still hot water falling from the shower head, allowing it to mix with the tears he didn't know he was shedding.

---

Nearly twenty minutes later, Dean emerged from the bathroom. He pulled on a clean t-shirt, noticing that Sam had moved the trail of clothes he'd left and was now sitting on his bed, his back resting against the headboard. When Sam turned off the television, the light from the bathroom provided the only illumination in the room.

Dean took one of the bottles of beer Sam had stuck in the ice bucket.

"Thanks," he said and removed the cap. "Have you taken anything for your wrist?"

"It's fine, Dean. Are you okay?"

"I'm tired."

"I could have helped at the cemetery, you know."

"You did; you were the look-out. When your wrist heals, you can dig up the bones."

"Deal," Sam said as Dean sat on the other bed.

After letting Dean enjoy the beer for a few minutes, Sam threw his long legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. "Dean –"

Dean didn't turn to look at him. "I'm okay, Sam. I'm sorry I –"

"Don't apologize for being human, Dean. Please." When his brother didn't react, Sam continued. "I know you don't like the serious talks, but when I need to, you always let me. You listened to me talk about Jessica for hours on end after she died. You –"

"You were hurting, man."

"You hurt, too. And when you do, I want to make it okay for you to talk to me."

"You do," Dean whispered and looked at Sam.

oooOOOooo

Sam and Dean stuck around town for another two days to make sure there were no more attacks. Jobs weren't always as cut and dry as this one, but they didn't want to make any assumptions. They didn't talk any more about Dean's experience with Wally and Sam didn't tell his brother that he'd started looking for him. Sam didn't know what he would do if he found him, but he felt like he needed to look.

Dean was subdued for several weeks after they left town. He didn't spent much time trolling for women in bars, but gave his all to the hunt. Without complaint, he took up the slack that Sam's injured wrist demanded. Sam let Dean do things for him that he probably could have done himself, but he saw the peace it gave his brother and he would do anything to keep that look on Dean's face.

When it was time for the follow-up x-ray on Sam's wrist, the brothers were visiting Bobby Singer. He'd become an important person in their lives and both of them felt a little closer to their father when they were with Bobby.

Even though Dean had known that Sam's wrist would be fine, he felt a huge relief when the doctor told them Sam no longer needed to wear the brace. Somehow, after hearing the news, it was as if he could finally put some things behind him. He was more used to stuffing his feelings away than actually dealing with them, but he was beginning to learn that the latter way was often better.

Dean never really thought about why he found it so hard to share things with Sam. Part of it, the part he recognized, was that he wanted to protect his little brother. Even now that Sam was nearly 24 years old and anything but _little_, Dean still wanted to keep him safe. Some of the things he'd seen, some of what he'd been through….

Another part of the reason Dean had a hard time opening up to Sam was fear of his rejection; not that he had ever considered that. Dean didn't want to be alone and that was the overriding reason he'd gone to Stanford to get Sam when their father went missing. He could have continued on alone, but he couldn't face it. Now, nearly three years after reuniting with his brother and spending a lot of that time afraid that Sam would leave Dean realized he could let him go. He could be alone if it meant Sam was happy, but not if it meant that Sam had rejected him.

---

Dean had been working on his Impala for most of the afternoon and was enjoying a beer while sitting on the hood when Sam joined him.

"Hey," Sam sat down next to his brother. "How's she running?"

"Better than ever," Dean announced proudly. "So, good news about your wrist this morning, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam flexed his fingers. "It's nice not to have the brace on it."

'I bet. It doesn't hurt at all?"

"No, it's fine."

Dean looked away and nodded.

"We've got dinner ready inside if you're hungry."

"Yeah, I'll be right there."

Sam nodded and walked toward Bobby's house. He stopped and turned back to his brother.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean recognized Sam's tone as well as his body language and knew that he was going to bring up something Dean didn't want to talk about.

"Yeah?" He took a long draw from the beer bottle.

"You okay?"

"Sam…."

"You've been spending a lot of time out here alone. I'm just worried about you."

"I'm okay."

"If you want to talk about –"

"I don't."

"But if you do want to…."

"I can talk to you," Dean said quietly. "I know that."

Sam nodded. "So, uh, I'm here, okay?"

Dean watched as Sam stood in front of him, looking a little uncomfortable. A moment later, the younger man nodded again and turned away.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean called. "Wait for me."

They walked toward the house together and Dean glanced at Sam when he put a hand, the hand that had been injured, on his shoulder.

Dean felt his mood lighten suddenly and an unusual sense of comfort and safety. He grinned at his brother.

"Last one there has to wash the dishes," he said and then sprinted toward the house.

A moment later he heard Sam's footsteps behind him and he ran faster. For the first time in a long time he felt like he was running toward something and not away from something.

_fin_


End file.
